


you shine in this pitch darkness that is the butterfly effect

by spymursclause



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:29:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27680740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spymursclause/pseuds/spymursclause
Summary: found this in my google drive and i'm pretty sure i meant for this to be longer when i started this but i no longer remember the direction i was going to take this in... however, some beditristan fluff though, in honour of the new movie coming out... soon. and then i will die as a bedivere lover.
Relationships: Bedivere/Tristan | Archer
Kudos: 10





	you shine in this pitch darkness that is the butterfly effect

**Author's Note:**

> found this in my google drive and i'm pretty sure i meant for this to be longer when i started this but i no longer remember the direction i was going to take this in... however, some beditristan fluff though, in honour of the new movie coming out... soon. and then i will die as a bedivere lover.

Tristan cradles Bedivere’s face in his hands, pressing his forehead against Bedivere’s, wondering how such a blessed knight would let a child of sorrow eat away at his light. Bedivere is unmoving and composed, not even a flush on his face even as Tristan’s heartbeat quickens to the point where it is much too fast for a situation where he is not fighting and he has to pull away, take a breath. He drops his hands to his side, and the skin of his palms are burning — but in a pleasant way.

Is friends all they really were? 

Tristan thinks of their fleeting touches, and the way Bedivere allows Tristan to grasp his right hand even though it seems like not many others seem to have the privilege of doing so. He thinks of how he’s allowed to sit at the edge of Bedivere’s bed at night when the nightmares bite at him, his fears of being left alone rearing their ugly heads. 

He takes a step back and Bedivere mimics his movement but in the opposite way.

“Bedivere,” he warns quietly without any real ire, the usual formal ‘Sir’ slipping his mind as he blinks slowly when Bedivere reaches up to clasp his hands on the back of Tristan’s neck. “Must you?” He leans down anyways when Bedivere tugs gently but insistently, foreheads meeting again and he automatically loops his arms loosely around Bedivere, drawing him ever closer. He closes his eyes even though he knows Bedivere will be able to tell the difference, and tries to calm his racing heart. 

He hears a soft laugh, and his eyes slit open just a bit to gaze at Bedivere again. 

Bedivere’s smiling, the whole image of innocence even though Tristan can see the hint of cheekiness that make him look slightly impish. Bedivere tip toes, like he wants lean closer and Tristan’s breath hitches, eyes snapping shut again, almost unconsciously tucking his chin closer to his chest. 

Nothing comes. 

He opens his eyes again and Bedivere is squinting up at him, lips flattening in a thin line, brow creased a little to show his displeasure. He loses an inch or two height when he stops standing on his toes, Tristan still half bent at his request. One of Bedivere’s hands — his left — unclasps from Tristan’s neck and cradles Tristan’s face carefully, touch so light almost like it’s not there. 

His thumb runs under Tristan’s eye, tracing the bags Tristan knows are there; they stand out so starkly after all. Bedivere’s frown deepens — “You’re not sleeping properly,” he muses quietly. 

No anger or disappointment, just a worried undertone and Tristan is struck again by how gentle Bedivere is. Tristan mumbles what could be a ‘sorry’ but his tongue ties up halfway between the s and o and Bedivere smiles again, patting Tristan’s cheek before taking a half step back. 

His hand slips from behind Tristan’s neck and the archer straightens up again. He makes a show of stretching his back out and Bedivere rolls his eyes. 

He grips Tristan’s wrist and takes off, Tristan nearly tripping over his own feet as he tries to process going from standstill to breakneck speed; Bedivere’s much faster than others expect. 

They whip past Gawain who shouts at them to be careful and Bedivere barely manages to lead them both past Lancelot without taking down the violet haired knight.  Lancelot shouts something about lovebirds and eloping and if Tristan wasn’t desperately trying to keep up with Bedivere, he’d hurl a shot at him. 

Viciously. And then take him to the infirmary if he hit him. 

For now, he concentrates on not running headlong into their king and the court magus. 

Bedivere is careful but he seems to forget Tristan does not simply twist and turn as easily with his taller frame and Artoria has to step out of the way as they zip past. 

Tristan  _ swears _ Merlin wiggles his eyebrows.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: [spymursclause](https://twitter.com/spymursclause)


End file.
